Little Vipers
by Alien-Ariel
Summary: Charlotte only pretends to be a boy. The rafters of the Opera Populaire are no place for a girl after all. But what will happen to her when she leaves the backstage, and follows a mysterious and deadly shadow into the basement? Rated for safety. Erik/OC
1. Think of Me

**This is my first phic, but honestly I'm surprised I didn't start this sooner.**

**I first fell in love with the Phantom of the Opera when I saw it on Broadway on a band trip to New York City. It just caught me. I'm surprised I didn't start writing a phic right away.**

**But now, after some additional research, I feel that I'm ready to write this thing. I'll be taking some liberties with Joseph Buquet, but nothing too far out of character I think. It just fits better to the story if he acts how I interpret his character.**

**And the title has very little to do with the actual story. I just like the way Gerard Butler says "you little viper" in the 2004 movie.**

**I hope you'll all bear with me with the dialogue. I'm still struggling with my antiquated speech patterns. Some things may sound too modern, some may sound wayyy too old for the period. If you have any tips, I'd love to hear them.**

**So yeah. I appreciate reviews, because they generally make me more ambitious to write. I kind of procrastinate. And also if I really get someone ridiculously out of character. I am open to criticism, especially in that respect.**

**Tell me what you think, and enjoy!**

The Opera Populaire was my home. I had lived and worked here with my Poppa for some time now. The other stagehands constantly told me that the rafters and rigging of the backstage were no place for a boy so young, but my Poppa let me stay and help. What did they know anyway? Certainly not that I was actually eighteen, or that I was no boy. There was a lot about me, Charlotte Simon, that nobody but my Poppa knew, now that Mother was gone.

"Poppa, stay away from the dressing rooms." I chided, skipping along the empty hall and pulling him by the hand.

"Stop that foolish skipping, Lottie." Joseph Buquet, my Poppa, warned me as I lead him along, "And hide all your damned hair before one of the other hands sees you."

"Yes Poppa." I said, obediently stuffing my long brown hair into my cap with some difficulty.

"And don't call me Poppa." He added, "Act more like boy, won't you?"

"Yes Father." I corrected as a group of dancers glided past, giggling at me. I pulled the rim of my cap farther over my face. Poppa clapped a hand onto my shoulder, causing a cloud of dust to puff into the air, and my nose. I sneezed, and just barely caught my cap before it slid off my head. Poppa laughed at me.

"Oh Lottie." He chuckled quietly, leading me over to the backstage stairs, "You aren't much of a boy."

"The dancers seem to think so." I said with a slight smirk.

"Those girls will believe anything you tell them." Poppa countered.

"I know." I agreed, "I don't like acting like a boy. If I could be myself and still keep this job, I would."

"You know you can't, dear." Poppa said.

"Would Mother have been more pleased to see me as a dancer? Or a singer?" I asked for what must have been the thousandth time.

"No." Poppa admitted, "I think she would be very happy with this little game you play."

"This is no game!" I said, pouting, "I take my job very seriously."

"You suck in that bottom lip, young man." Poppa said sternly, but with a slight smile, "And get to your post; show's starting soon."

**Later:**

"Charlie, the Aria's coming up." A man told me as he passed in the darkness of the backstage.

"Oh, thank you Monsieur!" I said, running across the rafter I was sitting on to a staircase. I tromped down the steps, making much more noise in my heavy boots than I should have, and catapulted out into the railing next to Poppa.

"Hush, you silly girl." He said in a whisper, since no one was close enough to hear him, "The Aria's started already."

"Yes Poppa." I said quietly, unable to drop the huge smile across my face. The Arias of the operas were always my favorite to listen to. They were also the easiest to understand.

"She's very pretty, Poppa." I said.

"She's new." He replied, "Christine Daae is her name."

"About time someone replaced that Carlotta toad." I said to myself, smiling.

The new starlet finished her solo and was rewarded with a standing ovation and rose after rose. I applauded her while the other stagehands began to tear down the set.

Seeing someone who was previously unknown succeed so completely made me feel happy. Those girls were so brave. I couldn't do that. I'd never been much of a singer, and I couldn't dance at all; but somehow working in this opera house just seemed to click with me. I just got the feeling, as soon as my Father and I came to Paris, that I was meant to be here.

For what, I still didn't know. Not yet at least.


	2. At the Level of Your Eyes

**Well, here's chapter two.**

**I must not be doing too terrible with the characters, as no one's reviewed or sent me hate mail. Haha.**

**Anyway, I hope you all like this. I think my twist of introducing Charlotte and the Phantom is rather unique, and I'm pretty proud of it. I seem to get my best ideas when I sit in bed every morning, trying to wake up. Either that, or during my sleepless nights.**

**I'd really appreciate some reviews. I do love reading how real people react to my stories, since my family refuses to read them.**

**Tell me what you think, and enjoy!**

Some time passes between Hannibal and Il Muto. Actually, it was hardly any time at all. Monsieur Lefevre seemed to distrust the managing potential of first-timers Firmin and Andre, and worked the cast nearly to death right before his rumored retirement. Instead of just learning a single opera, as is custom, Monsieur Lefevre had everyone learning both Hannibal and Il Muto, to ensure a smoother transition for the new managers. So it should be no surprise that the two operas were back-to-back. It had Poppa in fits.

"Oh Poppa, don't fret." I pleaded, trying to talk him out of his frustration.

"Girl, your _hair_." He said impatiently, choosing to ignore me. I sighed and rolled my eyes, using one hand to hide my think, long hair and the other to grab my Father's shoulder.

"Poppa, be calm." I said more forcefully, and turning him to face me, "The sets will be made. Can't we just enjoy Carlotta's leaving party?" Poppa smiled at my joke.

"I wouldn't miss it for all the unfinished sets in the world." He laughed. We walked over to an overhang and looked down just as the prima donna herself and a train of beseeching followers went by. Crewmembers catcalled and mooned the spoiled star, and I couldn't help but join in. At least the Opera Populaire was rid of her.

**Later:**

"This is ridiculous." I grumbled as I pulled the cord to open the curtains at the urging of the cast on stage. Il Muto _was_ to be performed with Carlotta, despite her huffy and rather public walkout this morning. I sighed and pouted as she took the stage.

"Charlie, your father was looking for you." A stagehand said after tapping my shoulder.

"Yes, thank you." I said as gruffly as possible to make up for the rather girly frown he'd caught me in. Little did I know it wouldn't matter after the events to come tonight.

"Overhang." He continued and I nodded. I pounded up the stairs, not caring if I was heard; I wasn't at all concerned about interrupting a Carlotta performance.

"I'm here, Father." I said as I approached him. He didn't react, staring intently over the railing, "Father." I said a little louder, touching his shoulder. He started and turned to me, looking unnerved.

"Oh, Charlie." He said distractedly.

"You needed me?" I continued, looking down myself, only seeing Carlotta's tray of "necessities", such as her throat spray.

"Well yes I had, but..." He joined me at the rail, looking down with a steady gaze.

"Something wrong, Father?" I asked again. He closed his eyes and pulled back, leading me farther along the overhang.

"No, I don't think so, dear." Poppa assured me quietly, "Don't go worrying yourself."

"But Poppa-"

"Hush, dear." He interrupted me, his grip on my shoulder tightening, "It's nothing." He stared me straight in the eyes and I nodded.

"What did you want me for, Father?" I continued as we walked higher into the backstage.

"I just wanted you away from the other hands." He said, smiling slightly, "And the stage. You shouldn't be so loud, dear."

"Did you hear something?" I asked, turning. There was nothing there.

"There is nothing there." Poppa repeated my thoughts. We continued along the line of tackles and rigging; Poppa looked distracted again.

"Poppa, what _are_ you looking for?" I demanded as his eyes scanned high above us.

"Just checking the ropes." He said off-handedly. We scaled a staircase, landing at the top just as a voice boomed and echoed through the theater.

"Did I not instruct that Box 5 was to be kept empty?" The voice said, loud but low, with evident anger. My eyes grew wide.

"The Phantom." I said to myself, "The _Phantom_!" I said to my Father with a glare.

"Now Charlotte-"

"I _knew_ something was wrong. You saw him." I poked his chest for emphasis.

"There is certainly no fooling you." Poppa agreed, walking towards another set of stairs.

"Where are you going?" I demanded again, stomping along behind him, "If you're going to find the Opera Ghost, I'm coming with you."

"No Charlotte, you will not." Poppa said sternly, turning to face me, "You will go down to the main floor, you will do your job, you will stay surrounded by the other stagehands; but you _will not_ go looking for this murderer. Do you hear me?" I crossed my arms and looked away, "_Do you hear me_?" He repeated, shaking me. I looked into my Father's eyes, his clouded with concern, mine swimming with fear.

"Yes Poppa." I said softly, falling against him in fright.

"My little Lottie, always to quick to tears." He said with a chuckle to himself. He petted my hair for a moment, "Stay safe, child."

And he was gone.

Of course I didn't go back to the main level. After all the stories my Poppa told me of the Phantom of the Opera, and all the late-night scare sessions in the dancers' dormitories, I wouldn't just let my Poppa go off on his own. I waited until I saw him pass through a concealed door, far above me.

I stopped only for a moment along the chandelier's balcony to watch the chaos on the stage so far away. I giggled a very girly laugh as one of the actors danced his way off stage to the beat of the ballet; I was glad no one was around to hear this blatant blow of cover. However, I was pulled away by the sound of a scream.

I pushed through the same door my Father had passed through minutes before and up the stairs as fast as I could, fearing for my Poppa. I hadn't been up in the rafters very much, because Poppa said I might slip; so I didn't really know where I was. I followed on the paths that seemed to be swaying more than any others, hoping this to be a reasonable strategy.

I turned corners and jumped over the gaps in the wooden rafters. I stumbled a few times, which slowed me down. The second time I heard my Poppa cry out it sounded distant and muffled; it was hard to hear over the orchestra now, and I realized we were directly over the stage.

"Poppa?" I tried to call, but he didn't answer. I ran blindly, trying to follow the direction his voice had emanated from.

By the time I found him, a masked figure was pushing my Father out from the rafter, a noose around his neck. My heart stopped. I couldn't breathe.

"_POPPA_!" I somehow found the strength to scream, "_Poppa_!" I found the power to move my legs to the place where he'd been pushed over. I slid on a slick spot, nearly falling myself; I grabbed a rope and held on tight. I looked down just as he finally fell the rest of the way to the stage. My Father was dead.

My sobs couldn't be heard over the screams and shouts of the actors and audience below me, so no one even looked up. No one looked up to see the foolish thing I was about to do. I turned my face away. And right up into the face of the Phantom, just twenty feet away at the end of the rafter.

"_You_." Was all I spat before standing and sprinting after the deadly shadow.

I had no idea what I was doing. I was crazed.

But I had renewed energy, just begging to be spent by chasing down this man, this ghost, this killer.

It was almost too easy following him. In fact, it _was_ too easy. And it was almost as if he would taunt me, calling me on. In actuality, he was; sending a whisper down a passage to meet me, or the swish of his cape around a corner. But I wouldn't realize any of this until it was much too late.

I came to a black, glossy lake and immediately ruined the mirror with ripples and waves as I waded right in. I was loud and wasn't trying at all to be stealthy. I can't even tell you what was going through my head, but I assume it wasn't much. I didn't even have a weapon. What did I plan on doing? I hadn't a clue.

"Foolish boy." I heard in my ear, as if confirming my thoughts. As a split second's thought I rushed my hand up to the rim of my cap, just as Poppa had taught me, just as a coarse rope flew over my head.

"Clever." The Phantom whispered in my ear, "I suppose your 'Poppa' taught you that?" He asked cruelly. I couldn't reply; it was all I could manage, keeping my grip on my cap, creating a barrier between me and my certain death. The Phantom pushed me on, in through a slatted gate; it shut behind us, all the way down to the ground. I felt the bump of it hitting solid stone through my feet. I groaned in distress as the Phantom produced more rope, using it to tie my waist and other hand to the gate.

"Keep your hand at the level of your _eyes_." He sang harshly as he finally overpowered me and slipped my hand out from under the lasso. With a tug, the rope finally found my neck, forcing all the air out of my lungs.

"Stupid boy." The Phantom taunted, pulling harder. My vision blurred. I sputtered. I kicked. But all to no avail; I eventually accepted my fate, my head flopping forward. I couldn't see. I couldn't think. But I could still hear the Phantom sort of laughing to himself.

In the last moments of life, I barely registered my cap finally sliding off my head and my brown hair spilling out over my motionless face.

"A woman." Was the last thing I remember hearing before I simply couldn't hold on any longer. My world went black.


	3. Snared

**Well, this is chapter 3!**

**I hope everyone likes this, as I worked pretty hard on the dialogue.**

**Again, if anyone has any tips, concerns, compliments, just send me a review. I do love them. And on that note, thanks to my nameistolong for my first and only review! I really appreciate it and am happy you like my story.**

**Tell me what you think, and enjoy!**

I was not surprised to wake up. Poppa always told me dying was like falling asleep, and reappearing in Heaven was just like waking from this deep sleep. My head as pounding though, my limbs felt very heavy and numb, and I still couldn't see; was this my afterlife? I hoped not. I felt a cold draft and tried to wrap my arms around myself, only to find my wrists tied down. I wanted to try to twist them free, but already felt my body succumbing to the darkness that is unconsciousness.

The next time I surfaced I was much warmer. I still felt the restraints on my wrists, and realized it had the same grainy texture of the Phantom's Punjab lasso. However, at least this time I had enough energy to open my eyes. Colors blurred and flickered in front of me. Reds, yellows and oranges swayed and blended everywhere in tiny pinpricks. Wherever I was, it was full of hundreds of candles. I saw a shadow shift to my left, obscured by all the swimming shapes. I blacked out.

I reawaked once more to find myself mere steps from the Phantom of the Opera; he was unmistakable. This was most likely the black mass I'd seen move when my vision was still blurry; I couldn't have been under for more than a moment. So I wasn't dead after all. Looking up into his face, as I was now able to see that I was strapped to the arms of a magnificent armchair, I silently wished my eyes were still unfocused. He was intimidating up close, and, as my Father had said, I was quick to tears.

My Father...

"You _evil_ demon." I snarled, leaning forward in what I intended to be a threatening gesture. My entire demeanor changed when I remembered whom exactly I was snared by.

"Evil? Such harsh words." The Phantom said in his deep voice. It was much less intimidating in here as opposed to the opera stage, but I still felt butterflies explode into every corner of my stomach. But I refused to show my fear. Poppa was always telling me to act more like a boy, so now was my chance. I blew a strand of hair out of my face to speak when I finally realized that my hair was down. I felt my eyes grow wide despite myself.

"Missing this?" The Phantom seemed to read my mind. He held out my cap from behind his back, still slightly wet from falling into the lake.

"Give it back." I growled as he circled my chair.

"Come and get it then." He taunted, reaching from around the back of the chair to dangle it right in front of my face. I made a move to bite his hand, but he dexterously moved out of harm's way, slapping the vaguely soggy cap back on my head. I flicked it back far enough for me to see past my bangs.

"So why is it," The Phantom continued, walking with his back to me, hands folded neatly above his coattails, "That you hide who you are? Did Poppa want a son in place of his daughter?" He teased.

"Women aren't allowed to be stagehands." I clarified, glaring daggers into his back.

"So you tuck your hair into your hat and pray no one notices your hips." He cut across me, "I don't think you were fooling anyone, my dear."

"Fooled you." I said, smirking. The Phantom was silent a moment.

"I fail to see how pretending to be a boy is a triumph to you, a girl." He continued carefully, trying to come out on top.

"Woman." I let slip before I could help myself. He just sent me an unwavering gaze and a slight smirk.

"A woman, you say?" He pestered me. I glared.

"I'm eighteen. I'm not a girl anymore." I explained stubbornly.

"Well I'm not convinced." He replied. I rolled my eyes in frustration until I realized, or rather _remembered_, something.

"Sure you are." I said slowly, smirking, "When you damn near strangled me to death you called me a woman after my cap fell, before I blacked out." I was gloating rather childishly, I know. But I had won; I saw the comprehension dawning on his face right now.

"Perhaps." He admitted, but inconclusively, "But it shall be difficult to see you as such until you learn to dress like one." I stared down at my over-sized undershirt and filthy tan overalls, legs rolled up to showcase my heavy work boots. I could see his point, but I refused to ever tell him that.

We argued for quite a while longer until something very important came to mind.

"Why am I not dead?" I demanded suddenly.

"I would assume that is due to-" The Phantom seemed about to launch into a speech not relating to what I was actually asking. He seemed to like toying with me.

"Why didn't you kill me?" I asked more directly, cutting him off. He was silent, looking away from my piercing brown eyes. I could see him struggling over his answer.

"I don't kill girls." He finally conceded. It seemed like the truth.

"Women." I corrected him again; ho wisely chose not to respond, so I continued, "But apparently you have no qualms with kidnapping them."

"You know where I live! Do you expect me to just let you go, only for you to return with a mob? No, you won't be leaving." He said quietly. I felt my heart sink, but I expected about as much.

"Can you at least untie me?" I asked, trying to sound sad and vulnerable. Apparently falling for me trap, the Phantom gave me a sidelong look before picking a knife up from a nearby table. He approached me and cut the ropes binding my wrists and some on my ankles, which I hadn't even noticed yet.

I waited until he was turning back to return the dagger before I dashed off. I had no idea where I thought I'd go; the gate was still down and I had no idea how to open it. Perhaps I should have been more patient, because I'd only gone a few steps before I felt a strong arm around my waist and the side of a knife at my throat.

"As I said," The Phantom spoke into my ear, "You won't be leaving."

"I suppose not." I sighed, irritated.

"Now my dear," He continued, relaxing the dagger but keeping a strong hold on me, "To what shall I be referring to you by?"

"Simon." I said impatiently, trying to turn away from him.

"After all this talk of womanhood, and you still cling to the name of a boy." He cooed, probably smirking at my discomfort. I tried to ignore the fact that him whispering into my ear sent chills up and down my spine.

"Simon is my last name." I said, rolling my eyes at myself and trying to keep my breathing steady.

"Hmm. But is your _Poppa's_ name not Buquet?" He taunted, apparently aware he was getting to me.

"Simon is my _Mother's_ last name."

"Your mother, you say? If she is as pretty as you under all that dirt, perhaps I shall like to meet her." He teased me, just barely scraping the side of the knife along my cheek.

"Those are freckles, not dirt." I said, twisting my face away again, "And my Mother's dead."

"Pity." He sneered, "I don't suppose _she_ died at the end of a noose?" I growled in frustration as he once again located my ear.

"No. But I fail to see how that is at all your business." I said lowly.

"Oh I have no doubts that you will eventually tell me." He said confidently. I felt him smirk even behind me.

"And I have no doubts that _you_ will eventually be showing me what's under your mask." I sneered, trying to say something to get back at him. The Phantom didn't reply, but I felt him release a quick breath right past my face. He started to lead me back to the center of his strange underground home without a single word.

"Where are we going?" I asked, still smiling triumphantly.

"You're going back in the chair." He grumbled.


	4. Up Once More

**Ok, here's chapter 4!**

**My, this is going very well; I have a habit of getting bored by chapter 3. This is a good sign; YOU SHOULD ALL REVIEW IN CELEBRATION. Ha, kidding of course.**

**Even still, I appreciate reviews. (And on that note, thanks to mynameistolong and iwandamonian for their wonderful reviews!) As always, any concerns, questions, compliments, just drop me a review.**

**Without further ado: what I hope to be a humorous chapter 4!**

**Tell me what you think, and enjoy!**

I was indeed escorted back to the armchair I'd woken up in, but the Phantom at least didn't restrain me. Maybe he was showing some compassion, maybe he was out of rope.

I wasn't sure which I preferred.

It was made very clear it would be unwise for me to leave this chair. So it was only my desire to remain unharmed that kept me tied down. As it were, I noticed at some point that the Phantom was missing. I neednt have gone looking for him though; he was rowing his way back through the gate as soon as I'd registered his absence.

He bumped to the shore and exited the boat. He paced on the stone floor rather huffily for a minute or two, clutching his head off and on, and even smashing a vase along the far wall. I must have squeaked in fear because the Phantom turned to me now; his face was distorted with anguish, and I was pretty sure he'd forgotten I was here.

He moved to another room to apparently continue his rage and turmoil in private without so much as a word to me. I pulled my feet up onto the chair and tried not to make a sound as I attempted to get comfortable; I now knew his anger and wouldn't dare disobey his one order to me until he'd calmed down. So I stayed in the armchair like a good girl. A few fearful tears may have squeezed out of my eyes when I finally shut them.

The next morning I awoke in the same position, apparently having been scared stiff. I was immediately made aware that my legs were numb and full of pins and needles. My neck was stiff, and as I raised a hand to massage it I also noticed that at least that arm was also asleep. I gasped when my lifeless feet slid off the seat of the chair, sending a shockwave of pain straight to my knees when they hit the ground. I moaned and simply bent over, my hands kneading my neck through my tangled hair. I had mostly regained control of my body before I saw two shining boots click into place on the ground in front of me. I took a long steadying breath before sitting upright. Thankfully, when I looked into his face, the Phantom seemed to be out of his tantrum.

"Good morning, Monsieur." I said carefully when he apparently wasn't going to say anything.

"Good morning, Mademoiselle." He returned from courtesy alone. There was an uncomfortable pause, for me at least; he frightened me, and I was afraid it would show in my eyes. So I instead chose to look out over the lake. Maybe I looked a little wistful, because the Phantom spoke again.

"Breakfast is waiting, if you desire." He said softer, but still in the same unreadable tone. The offer made me realize just how hungry I was, and I nodded.

He led me over to a table with two plates on it. I picked mine up and turned back to my chair. I sat carefully on it and started to nibble on some of the bread and cheese. I felt the Phantom's stare so I concentrated on chewing as quietly as possible, my gaze trained on the plate balanced on my lap.

"Did you sleep in the chair?" He asked me. I closed my eyes for a brief moment before answering.

"I did as I was instructed." I replied, reopening my eyes and glancing up at the Phantom slowly. He met my gaze steadily before turning back to his food.

"I don't remember instructing you to make yourself uncomfortable." He said. His tone wasn't any different, no warmer, but I felt a little more relaxed. Relaxed enough to push the conversation forward.

"Where did you go last night?" I asked cautiously before his mood turned darker.

"Roof." He said simply. I figured, by the distaste with which he said this single word, that I shouldn't press it. That's when I felt a very unwelcome sensation somewhere below my stomach.

"Excuse me, Phantom?" I called, trying to inconspicuously press my knees together. He nodded to signal he'd heard me, "Um, could I please excuse myself to use the bathroom?"

"You're allowed out of the chair now, if you behave." He said, misinterpreting what I meant.

"Thank you, Monsieur. But I am afraid I will be unable to- _locate_ it on my own." I continued patiently. The Phantom turned to look at me.

"Locate what, Mademoiselle?" He asked evenly. I couldn't tell if he was just toying with me, so I cleared my throat and replied with a deliberate tone.

"Your bathroom, sir." I said. He looked me, not even blinking.

"I have no bathroom. Just go." He said, turning back to his plate.

"_What_?" I yelled, my voice unintentionally high as a wave of discomfort passed over me again.

"Do you wish to have some privacy?" He continued. I was getting upset. There was simply no talking to him.

"Women can't '_just go_' like men!" I implored him, squirming.

"My condolences." He replied, the hint of a smile twitching on the side of his mouth. So he _was_ just messing with me. Well I wasn't laughing.

"I need a bathroom." I said forcefully, "Like, five minutes ago. So you will take me up into the Opera Populaire so I can get to one." I was standing over him now, looking cross.

"You are awfully demanding for being _my_ prisoner." The Phantom observed, "Why should I?"

"Because I can only become even _more_ belligerent if you don't." I promised.

**Later:**

The Phantom seemed to realize that I would make good on my promise, so I was soon being escorted up onto the main level. Rising across the lake was a test of my control, but I made it. As soon as I'd walked back out of the bathroom a hand wrapped around my upper arm and pulled me into a shadowed alcove. I felt the leather of the Phantom's gloved hand slip over my mouth and his other hand move from my arm to hold my waist.

"Hush, foolish girl." He whispered in my ear as Monsieurs Firmin and Andre passed right past where we were hiding, arguing about what was to be done with "the body". It took me only a moment to realize they had to be talking about my Father. I strained to listen in the echoing hall.

"-can't just dispose of it." Firmin was saying.

"But he no apparent family." Andre countered, "Wife's been dead for years, and now his son Charlie has gone missing. Horrible."

"I daresay we know who's kidnapped the poor lad." Firmin said not unsympathetically.

"And in that cause he may as well be pronounced dead." Andre agreed.

"I suppose we could just turn the body over to the cemetery. Perhaps they'll know what to do with it." Firmin concluded, his voice growing faint.

I couldn't stop the tears from coming even if I'd tried. I sobbed silently against the Phantom's hand and felt my knees wobble. He turned me around to better support me and I cried into his chest, only faintly aware I was allowing my Poppa's murderer to comfort me. But I cast the thoughts from my mind; for now at least I just needed to be held.

I vaguely felt a hand petting my hair and a soft voice in my ear. The Phantom was singing quietly to me.

I fell asleep just like that, either from emotional exhaustion or the massive sense of security I felt when he held me.


	5. Wandering Child

Okay, here's chapter 5. Sorry it took a few days; I've been busy and this weekend is looking to be about the same way. I have a goodbye party for the exchange student from my Tech class; work tomorrow morning, then a play at school; then work again Sunday morning, then my church's festival that night. If I get called off work any of those days, I will be SURE to put out the next chapter. Otherwise, look to see one probably on Monday.

**As a side note: I was reading some other phics recently to get inspired. I noticed that, after Belle, Charlotte is probably the next most common name for OCs. Which makes me mad. Everyone needs to stop naming their girls Charlotte. Haha.**

**As always, reviews are very much appreciated. And thanks to mynameistolong, iwandamonian, and StrawberryStoleYourCookie for their lovely reviews!**

**Tell me what you think, and enjoy!**

Ever since that first night, the night I was captured I mean, the Phantom has been distracted and prone to this endless, annoying pacing. He doesn't say much to me, and most often seems to forget I'm even here. It's pretty boring for me; I'd gotten over my fear of him by the end of the week, so at least I had that. But in place of fear I was now plagued by this immense sense of restlessness.

The Phantom was either ignoring me or working intensely on his latest opera at any given time, so I would wander around his home and, after what I speculated to be about a month, the tunnels surrounding it. My night vision seemed to have developed substantially since I came here, so I could see fairly well if I brought a candle along.

It wasn't really the tunnels that were the worst part; I navigated those with a surprising amount of ease. It was the winding stone staircase I found soon after which required some bravery. And I usually found myself in short supply of that.

I knew it was booby-trapped, because the Phantom had made a good deal of gloating about it on one of the rare occasions he hadn't been pretending I wasn't there. He of course hadn't gone into detail about the traps specifically, but I took it as more of a concerned warning not to go looking for them as opposed to a dare.

Even still, here I was at the base of the staircase, staring up through the unending spirals, imagining I could see the light of day far above me. I turned my eyes back to the steps in front of me slowly, thinking. I knew there were traps, but not what, or more importantly _where_, they were.

I remembered back to the first time I'd stepped onto the staircase. Of course the very last step (or in my case, going from bottom to top, the first step) would be rigged. It was very much in character for the phantom to blindside you just when you think you're in the clear. The second I tentatively pressed a foot onto the step it had fallen out, swinging away from the rest. I had scrambled to grab onto something, but had hit my head onto the next highest step, effectively knocking me unconscious.

I don't remember anything about the trap. I hadn't woken up until I was being carried away from it by the Phantom.

"Stupid girl." I repeated to myself, coming out of my memory. That was the only thing he'd said to me for the rest of the day, even though he had to spend a good time with me after the incident. I needed stitches on my forehead and wasn't a very complacent patient.

I shook my head and hopped decisively over the first step. I by-passed another pressure switch a few more steps up, which I'd discovered by accident the second time I'd gone this way. Much farther up the staircase I barely avoided a third trap I knew released poison darts by climbing onto the stone railing on the outside of the steps.

I was a good ways up now, but didn't know where any more traps were. I figured I was safe to dismount the railing by the time I reached a landing, thinking it was a much too obvious place for the clever Phantom to put a trap. However, as soon as I dropped down, I slid right through the floor, into a trapdoor. Once again he'd outsmarted me.

I fell right into a small room full of water. Knowing enough to look for the trap release (I knew he liked toying with his victims, and always put a way to reverse the trap somewhere in the chamber), I took in a huge breath of air and dived under. A turn-valve made itself pretty apparent on the wall. I resurfaced to take the biggest breath of my life before swimming to my means of escape. If it were as easy as figuring out how to turn a valve, it at least wouldn't be easy to actually do so. I would be down here for a while.

I was right. Through the years of rusting and disuse the valve wasn't going to budge for me. I felt like I needed another breath, but a grate not dissimilar to the large gate in the Phantom's home was already lowering past the water level. I instead tried to keep my mouth firmly shut and braced my back against the wall adjacent to the valve. I pushed forward with my feet on the valve and backwards with my arms and back against the wall; the combined force was enough to twist the stubborn valve. I swam up to grab the quickly ascending grate and broke the water's surface just as water started to enter my lungs.

I pulled myself up through a narrow opening in the wall and hacked out the old, stagnant water onto the stone. I flopped down onto my ass and breathed shallow but grateful gasps of air. My hair was as soaked as my clothes and pressing to my face in a tangled mess. My overalls clung to my slender frame and dripped dirty water in a puddle around me. It took me a few moments before I noticed the Phantom a ways to my left, standing in the tunnel with his hands behind his back. He may have looked a little amused.

"I'm not stupid." I grumbled, anticipating what he'd say as I stood up, "I got out, didn't I?"

The Phantom didn't say anything, but followed me as I backtracked to the main room. I was feeling a little vulnerable with my clothes clinging to me and him following along behind me like that, so without a word I plucked another candle out from a holder and reentered the tunnels. I found the staircase and retraced my steps. Jump over the first step, dodge the next pressure switch, climb up onto the railing. I was doing well enough, and making pretty good time, until my wet boots slipped on the stone. I fell backwards onto the very same landing, once again splashing into the water trap. Thankfully the valve was much easier to turn now; I was out in the tunnel before the grate even lowered into the water.

"Back so soon?" I heard the Phantom tease me from the shadows, "At least you're clean now."

"Oh hush." I growled as he actually chuckled.

"Have you learned your lesson yet?" He asked, following me along the tunnel again.

"Probably not." I admitted, clutching my arms around my now freezing body. My teeth chattered a little before I clamped them down tightly.

"How many more times will it take of you falling into the same trip then?" He continued, "Perhaps just one more time, just to be sure?" I felt his smirk behind me, as well as his gaze.

"That was an accident." I said, embarrassed and flushing with color. We reached the main cavern once more. I decided to cut my loses and stay put his time.

I looked down at my sopping wet clothes. I had been wearing the same things since I had first come here. The Phantom was right, unfortunately; even though that water was full of dirt, rust, and other unknown particles, I was much cleaner now than I had previously been. But it came at the price of me getting soaked, probably along with a nasty cold if I didn't change into something dry soon. But I didn't have anything else to wear. I sighed, defeated.

"I'll be needing more clothes." I said quietly to the Phantom, who was looking as though he'd suspected this request.

"I thought you'd never get the courage to ask." He teased, smirking again. He then led me up into the silent and dark Opera Populaire by the hand, making sure I didn't have a third run-in with the dreaded and now very familiar water trap.


	6. Sing to Me

**Well, here's chapter 6!**

**I never meant for it to work out like this, but given the new way I wanted Charlotte's character to develop, I couldn't get around this chapter. But I still like it, even if it seems a little "over-played" in phics. But I still tried to give it my own little twist, as always.**

**Not much else to say. Credit to those who catch the anti-Christine metaphor at the end! Review if you think you've figured it out. Haha. (On that note, thanks to iwandamonian and Pearlmaidenredskyla for their lovely reviews! Keep 'em coming!)**

**Tell me what you think, and enjoy!**

I flopped down onto my usual chair, dry and much happier to be in clean clothes. I had grabbed most of my wardrobe from my old room in the basement of the ballerina dormitories. I really only had my stagehand gear, which I didn't really need now, but it was all I had. The Phantom may still tease me about dressing like a boy, but I wasn't about to live the rest of eternity in a ball gown. I did rather shamefully take my one single dress with me when I thought the Phantom wasn't watching. I had seen the posters for the imminent Masquerade Ball and I admit I was intrigued. Maybe he would let me attend. After all, the Phantom was treating me more and more like a guest as opposed to a prisoner as the days went by. He had even given me my own room and generously let me furnish it however I chose. He really wasn't that bad when you got used to him.

In fact, if it weren't for my murdered Poppa I might even admit to being fond of the Phantom of the Opera.

It had been about a month and a half since the death of my Poppa, and I still felt the sting of grief. It was like a cattle prod on my heart; it was painful to think of him, so I stubbornly tried to extricate him from my mind anyway I could. This was hard, because anything could set off a memory of him. I had taken to torching whatever it might be at the time.

I had smashed the glass in all the photographs of him, to forget his face.

I had burned the cap he had given to me, to forget out life at the Opera Populaire together.

I had left behind the charm bracelet he gave me for my sixteenth birthday, to forget I was his daughter.

It seemed the only thing I couldn't destroy and rid myself of were my very own feelings, and my deep need to see my Father one last time.

The Phantom would have let me go to his funeral if I'd wanted. There really wasn't anything he _didn't_ let me do, aside from bothering him. But I didn't want to go. I knew I wouldn't be able to handle it. As it turns out, the Phantom had heard news of my Father on one of his many trips to scare the populace of the opera house. Apparently a rich great-uncle of mine had taken pity and gave my Poppa a very lavish funeral service. I knew he wouldn't have liked it being so fancy, and I just couldn't be there to see it.

It was times like these that I missed Mother the most. Ironically, the only picture I chose to take with me into my new underground life was one of my Mother and I; really it was just a picture of her being pregnant with me. But she hadn't lived long enough to take a portrait with me after my birth.

"Are you feeling well, my dear?" I heard above me. I looked up from the worn photograph in my hands to the Phantom; I didn't even remember pulling it out from my pocket.

"My Mother died in childbirth." I said out of nowhere, without even thinking, "With me." I just needed to tell someone. How long had it been since I'd thought about it? Or said it?

I was actually glad for the silence that followed. There aren't any comforting words in the world for the death of another person, and the Phantom understood that. Instead he just put a hand on my shoulder while I blinked away unexpected tears. He left a few moments later to move to his organ.

I stayed perfectly still, bent with my elbows on my knees, just staring down at the image of my young pregnant Mother. She had one hand on top of her stomach and the other on her hip. Photography was a budding industry back when it had been taken and was only offered by professionals; it was probably very expensive to get this taken, so she was in a very nice dress. Her clothes may not have been the most expensive in all of France, and she didn't have a regal hat or hairstyle; but she was my Mother, so she was beautiful to me no matter what.

Her smile was wide, which made her face glow. She may even have been laughing. I closed my eyes and straightened, delicately placing the photo back into my pocket.

"You look much like her, my dear." The Phantom said softly; he hadn't looked up from his feverish writing, but still somehow knew I was done with my moment of remembrance.

"Charlotte." I whispered, "My name is Charlotte." I met the Phantom with my large, lonely eyes as he turned to face me.

"Charlotte." He repeated, smiling that charming little half-smile of his, "Are you feeling well?" He asked again.

"I am well." I said with finality, standing up and smoothing down my clean overalls. I lifted my chin just a little higher and put on a brave face. Back to business.

"Would you like to help me with my opera?" The Phantom surprised me by asking.

"Of what service could _I_ be?" I asked, moving to sit beside him on the organ bench.

"Can you read music, Charlotte?" He asked me, pulling a sheet of music off the stand on his organ and handing it to me. I tried to hide the smile that sprang up inside me at the sound of my real name.

"I live in an opera house, don't I?" I scoffed, trying to cover up, "But you wouldn't like my voice, Monsieur Phantom." I replied as I surveyed the staff lines.

"How can you be certain, if I have not heard you sing, Mademoiselle?" He replied, looking at me with that unreadable face.

"I know ho you composers are." I said perhaps a little harshly, "Only writing for your _precious sopranos_." I tapped the first lone of the song, which soared with notes I could never even dream of reaching, for emphasis.

"And what vocal range do you believe you sing?" The Phantom continued, maybe a little curious but not without his usual teasing tone. I turned away from his admittedly handsome eyes and stood.

"Alto." I muttered. I turned my face and cut him off again before he could correct me, "Contralto if I were to sing a solo part in an opera. Not that I could _ever_ sing in an opera." I said the last part to the wall again, my arms crossing over my chest. The Phantom came to stand beside me, handing my a sheet of music not from his _Don Juan Triumphant_ but rather from an opera I'd never heard of called _Un ballo in maschera_. The part was for a character named Ulrica.

"Sing." The Phantom simply commanded. I glanced at the notes before I protested, but was startled; I knew I could reach those pitches.

"This is-" I started to say, not hiding my surprise very well.

"Sing, Charlotte." He cooed softly to me, walking away to sit at his organ. I sighed as I turned back to the page; it was probably best I do what he asked of me, not that I could deny him anything when he used that voice on me.

"_King of the abyss come to me..._" I began well enough, reveling in just how easily I could bring the notes to my lips. The song was dark and a little scary, which should make it a small wonder why the Phantom likes it.

The devilish but captivating song ended on a massive, glorious low note; I was grinning as the sound boomed in the cavern. This place is surely much more inclined to the dark and low; both the acoustics and the very nature of the place made me think so, believe so, with every fiber of my being. I spun on the sport, a smile covering my face. The Phantom was staring at me, apparently in deep thought.

"Was that acceptable?" I implored rather childishly, my silly grin faltering. Instead of replying, he turned rather quickly back to his organ and hunted for a clean sheet of staff paper, clearly seized by another of his many boughts of inspiration. Meanwhile, I rolled up the music sheet for "Re dell'abisso, affrettati" and slid it into my overall's pocket, beside the photo of my Mother.

"What are you doing?" I asked quietly.

"Writing you a part in my opera." The Phantom muttered distractedly. I left him in peace, trying to hide my joy. I did an excellent job of masking it, except for the sparkle that lit up in my eyes.


	7. No More Memories

**Ah, here's chapter 7! Sorry it took so long! I won't go into detail.**

**To explain the last chapter, which confused some of you, let me say that Charlotte is NOT TAKING CHRISTINE'S PLACE. I refuse to let my character be a Mary Sue, so that WILL NOT be happening. I'm going to be creating a character in the opera, as well as adding a scene to it. It'll play out that this scene I'm adding happens before the Point of No Return. I just needed Charlotte to be on-scene for that part of the story, and the easiest and most clever way to do it was to add her to **_**Don Juan.**_** Again, CHARLOTTE IS NOT PLAYING CHRISTINE'S ROLE IN **_**DON JUAN**_**.**

**Gah, as a side-note: What the hell is the name of Christine's role in **_**Don Juan Triumphant**_**? I honestly can't remember.**

**Thanks to Pearlmaidenredskyla, Iwandamonian, ashi8848, and SafetyPinStitches for their lovely reviews! You guys rock.**

**Also, the anti-Christine metaphor I was alluding to last chapter was how Charlotte thought that the Phantom's lair was much better suited to low notes than a soprano voice. Charlotte equals low, Christine equals high. Get it? Haha.**

**Anyway, this is just some fluff to give me some time to write the next chapter. Everyone loves a little fluff.**

**Tell me what you think, and enjoy!**

The Phantom had been increasingly busy over the next few days. I tried to keep quiet and out of the way. It was the least I could do to express my gratitude for him writing me into his opera. I hadn't really even realized how jealous I had been of the actors and singers and dancers. Secretly, even a secret to myself, I had wanted that. And the Phantom would give me a chance at it.

But try as I might, I was still a restless soul. I would get so bored, but I still wanted to keep quiet and not be a bother. I had stopped exploring the traps on the staircase, because, either out of concern or an interest to keep me from reaching my freedom, the Phantom was always waiting for me at the exit to a trap or back at the base of the staircase. Not that I would actually try to escape. I had actually taken to liking this place, and even the Phantom. Besides, where would I go if I ever returned to the world above this place I'd come to love? I was an orphan, but also legally an adult. No orphanage would have me, and I couldn't just go back to being a stagehand. Most everyone thought that Charlie Buquet was dead, and I couldn't take back my old job as Charlotte Simon. Girls still weren't allowed in the rafters as far as I still knew. No, I wouldn't be leaving. Even if I had the chance.

I instead chose to wander around the main cavern and the adjacent rooms. The Phantom usually told me not to go into his room, but while he was away or out I would allow my curiosity to get the better of me and I would venture in. I admired his design choices, and liked to play the music box beside his gorgeous swan bed. I never touched anything though, aside from the music box. I was respectful of his things.

The only reason I had read those letters on his desk was because they were open and strewn all over, I swear! It was like he was asking for them to be read by me, leaving them out like that!

Most of them were scraped letters signed by OG. There was nothing of consequence in those, but they were fun to read. He really was funny, in his overbearing and commanding nature. The interesting ones were the letters from Madame Giry, all to a person named Erik. I am embarrassed to admit that it took me a few moments to realize that, being a real person, the Phantom had to have a _real name_.

I was still thinking of him as the Phantom, and really didn't want him knowing I'd been snooping around in his business. So I only referred to him as Erik in my mind.

At first I didn't like the name; _Erik_ didn't seem to fit him very well. But the longer I said it, the longer I spent with him, I felt it growing on me.

It was getting pretty close to the Masquerade, and I still hadn't asked Erik if I could attend. I didn't like to think of it as cowardice; I was just waiting for the right moment is all.

I was sitting at the table a week before the Masquerade, just keeping busy. Erik had his back to me, hunched over the keys of his organ.

He really was a genius. The melodies he strung together were so dissonant, but beautiful in their own right. Much like his name, Erik could craft music that grew on me the more I heard it. He had told me about his plans to have the Opera Populaire perform it, which interested me. I figured that most people wouldn't understand or appreciate the message and music the first time they heard it. Which was rather clever actually. It wasn't that at first glance you found it utterly repulsive, and would never return. You were intrigued under the initial shock of it. People would be coming back to see it over and over until, in time, they would come to the same realization as I: _Don Juan Triumphant_ was a masterpiece. Erik amazed me. He was a genius.

I turned back to the table and refocused on what I was doing. The area around me was already covered in little paper figures and delicate paper forms. Paper folding was an art to me. It was something I truly enjoyed, and excelled in. I still had a lot to learn, but sometimes I even surprised myself with it. I was so absorbed that I barely noticed Erik playing the final note of the song he was currently refining, or him moving to sit across from me at the table.

"Charlotte my dear, you are using all my paper." Erik said amusedly. I looked up from my work and smiled a little sheepishly.

"My apologies, Monsieur." I replied as Erik picked up one of the finished pieces to examine it.

"Don't be. I admit I am rather fond of your little creations." He told me, setting the elephant back down to look at the rabbit next. I chose not to reply, but felt my smile grow as I went back to the tulip I was making.

"Where did you learn this?" He continued to make conversation.

"They call it Origami in the East." I answered by ways of a reply, not sure I wanted to talk about what I knew would come up, "I spent some time of my childhood in China."

"To travel is to gain the knowledge of the world." Erik agreed, but with an edge that told me he was aware I was holding back. I sighed, but obliged him.

"My Poppa was in the trading business when I was a girl. We used to travel a lot." I said quietly, diligently folding my tulip, "China was just one place we would visit." Erik didn't reply because he too had grabbed a sheet of paper and was starting a complicated series of folds. I held my sad little tulip between my thumb and forefinger as Erik finished a beautiful and perfect red paper rose.

"Must you _always_ show _everyone_ _else_ up?" I asked, sounding like a jealous child. He simply smiled and walked around the table to stand beside me.

"Must you always pout like a little girl, my dear Charlotte?" He teased me as he put the paper rose in my hair. I smiled despite myself and put the tulip through a buttonhole in his jacket lapel.

I don't think I stopped smiling the rest of the night, all thoughts of the Masquerade and my Poppa conveniently out of mind.

**Later:**

It was now or never.

The Masquerade was looming over my head. I had neglected to ask at all this week. I had to ask now or always think of myself as a coward.

Erik and I were sitting at the table the night before the ball, eating a nice dinner. He was always quiet when we ate, and I would mimic him so as to not disturb the peace. So much of my life here had been full of beautiful but admittedly loud music, so I came to appreciate these meals. But tonight I had to break it, or else I may never get the courage, or the chance.

"Speaking of dancing." I said into the silence, knowing full well there had been no talk of anything remotely relating to dancing, "I heard there was going to be a Masquerade Ball tomorrow evening upstairs." I had come accustomed to referring to the opera house as the upstairs of Erik's home, which I know he enjoyed. He looked at me with amusement playing on his handsome face, making me blush with embarrassment.

"Yes, I believe I've heard the same news." He said, apparently enjoying watching me squirm in discomfort.

"Oh, good." I said absentmindedly, trying to think of how to ask him. We sat in more silence, Erik eating quietly and staring at me, with that little smirk. I wasn't touching my plate anymore. Finally I had to just spit out the words.

"Can I go?" I asked rather quickly, and much louder than I'd planned. I bit my lip and flushed even darker as Erik's eyes looked into mine. He held my gaze for a moment before looking back down at his dinner.

"Of course, my dear Charlotte." He said, laughing slightly at me, "I had planned on attending myself."

I could have jumped up and hugged him if I wasn't so embarrassed.


	8. Paper Faces

Well, he's chapter 8, the Masquerade scene! I'm very proud of this chapter, and would LOVE LOVE LOVE reviews on it.

**I don't really have anything else to say, except for a few review responses:**

**Phantom's-only-Christine: You're right; I spelled it wrong. I dunno, maybe it's just a personal thing. I've always written Mama as "Momma", so Papa just makes sense to me as "Poppa". I'll be sure to keep it in mind for any other stories though!**

**Pearlmaidenredskyla: Thank you! I have no idea why I'd forgotten, and I couldn't find it anywhere, so you really helped me out there.**

**Just to give you a preview of what's to come, I might as well tell you all that this story is going to have a sequel. This one's going to be about establishing Erik and Charlotte's friendship, while the next one is about their relationship developing. This story's going to have (I'm thinking right now) about two more chapters. One for explaining some things, and the last one as the **_**Don Juan Triumphant**_**/ **_**Phantom's Lair**_** scene. Should be a long one. I might break it up. Not sure yet.**

**Anyway, please keep those reviews coming! Thanks to SafetyPinStitches, darklaughter, Captain Phantom Glass, Iwandamonian, Phantom's-only-Christine, Pearlmaindenredskyla, and StrawberryStoleYourCookie for your reviews. (Wow that was a lot for one chapter)**

**Tell me what you think, and enjoy!**

The morning of the Masquerade was the quietest I'd ever been since coming here. I was busy making sure everything was perfect for the night's festivities. I hung up my dress to smooth out the wrinkles and rooted around in a box of discarded costume pieces Erik had brought down for me; I found a very nice black velvet choker inside with a circular ruby set on it. It didn't exactly go with the black and gray of my dress, but I liked it. My gown for the night was black with off-the-shoulder sleeves and a modest but full skirt; a gray exposed corset wrapped around the waist with intricate clasps.

However, my main focus was my mask. Going back into the costume box, I had found a simple full-face mask. It was remarkably close to the gray color of my corset, so I quickly went looking for a knife to shave it down. I painstakingly carved away most of the mask, leaving only a diamond shape that would cover my left eye and some of my forehead and cheek. Not satisfied, I went once more to the old costumes. I plucked three long black feathers from a lady's hat and attached them to the points of the diamond, smiling as they curved wonderfully along the side of my head.

It wasn't long before I was throwing my dress over my head, slipping on my corset, tying on my choker, and positioning my homemade mask over my eye. I looked over myself in the mirror in my room once more, thinking about the night ahead. Erik had told me about his plans to reveal himself tonight, with all the fanfare and dramatics the Phantom of the Opera was known for. I had been upset obviously; I thought when he said he had been planning on attending that he was just _going_, not _crashing _the Masquerade. I had somehow talked him into a compromise. He could go with me for a while in normal evening attire, _then_ change into his Red Death costume and deliver his opera. He actually hadn't fought me very hard about it, and had played it off by saying he couldn't miss seeing me in a dress finally.

I stepped tentatively out of my room and walked over to Erik, who had his back to me as he stuffed all the music for _Don Juan_ into its leather portfolio. I made a small noise to tell him I was ready. He turned his head to see behind him and noticed me. I smiled just as quietly and took the last steps over to him. He held up a hand before I got too close; I stopped dead as he turned fully around. He was wearing one of his most handsome and tailored suits, and I felt myself bite my bottom lip. As he stood there appraising me I felt awkward, but also felt a deep desire to look beautiful.

"So you are a woman." Erik finally said after several long moments. I laughed softly and stared at the floor, feeling very uncomfortable. I felt the cold leather of Erik's glove on my upper arm and a finger slide under my chin. The small pressure he applied under it made me look up into his face, into his eyes.

"My dear Charlotte," He started softly, all joking tones gone from his voice, "I do believe you could be going to the ball tonight as an angel." I smiled a little, diverting my eyes.

"A _dark_ one, perhaps." I said shyly, dismissively. I touched the feathers curved around my head, as I looked back at him.

"So much the better." Erik assured me, smirking slightly at me as I blushed. He then took my hand to help me into the boat and across the lake.

The Masquerade was in full swing when we arrived. The orchestra, conducted by Monsieur Reyer, was playing a tune as the entrance hall of the Opera Populaire teemed with every costume and ball gown imaginable. Clowns twirled ballerinas by the hand, Matadors bowed to horse jockeys, and every prince had a princess; it was all very exciting.

Feeling much more at ease. I giggled and pulled Erik's hand behind me as I headed for the mass of dancing couples. He obliged me with a dance or two, leading me through the steps as I'd advised him to do. I didn't get to dance much, at least not these formal styles, so I tried my best to keep up. Erik would grip my hand tighter if I mis-stepped, and chuckle at me as he did so.

I was doing much better until I actually fell, my ankles having given out from under me. Erik pulled me into his arms as I squeaked and reflexively wrapped my arms around his neck to keep my balance. My eyes widened, and not from the surprise of falling, but from how close Erik and I had gotten in such a short amount of time. I could feel his hands setting the skin on the small of my back on fire as his sharp eyes bore into mine. My breath was short, but for completely different reasons as the last time Erik had cut my air supply.

The moment was ruined as a mass of pink floated past us on the dance floor, drawing Erik's eyes from mine. A dark shadow fell across his face; I looked after the pink thing myself and stiffened when I saw Raoul de Chagny and Christine Daae dancing their way around the floor in a happy sort of oblivion. Sighing, I looked farther into the crowd to see a few of Carlotta's unfortunate lackeys triumphantly carrying away arm-fulls of bottles. My eyes lit up as an idea came to me.

"Come on." I said to Erik, leading him down the corridor, "I know where there's an even better party." If I knew the stagehands, they'd be having their own "Masquerade" backstage.

"Anything to get away." I heard Erik mutter sadly behind me. I had a new determination in me: _I_ would get that _girl_ out of his head if it killed me.

As we pushed through one of the many doors to the backstage, Erik and I were not disappointed. Here the music was louder, being provided by our own set of drunken musicians; the dancing was faster, a slow waltz replaced with leg-twisting jigs and tarantellas; and the alcohol was readily available, being passed around the masses until every drop was downed. Laughing loudly, I pulled Erik over to a dancing pair and surprised both him and myself by executing it rather convincingly. Erik watched as I got really into it and garnered more and more attention; and with more attention comes more bottles being shoved my way. By the time Erik pulled me out of the crowd, I was feeling very giddy and more than a little under-the-influence. I giggled and fell into him, looping my arms behind his head.

"Come dance with me." I whined, but smiling widely, "You'll have so much _fun_." I sang, trying to pull away. Erik held my waist tighter, shaking his head.

"Charlotte, you are drunk." He told me sternly, but with a touch of amusement. He brushed some hair away from my face and chuckled.

"_I'm _not drunk, _you're_ drunk." I giggled, "I'm _not_!" I said to the look he was giving me.

"I have to go now." He said slowly, leaning in so I was sure to hear him.

"No!" I whined, pouting out my bottom lip, "Stay here. Stay with me." I entreated him childishly, tightening my grip around his neck and nuzzling my face into his neck. I felt him release a quick breath over my head before pulling me far enough away to see my face.

"Duty calls, my dear." Erik told me with finality. I sighed huffily.

"Oh fine! I'll see you back downstairs then." I gave in, "Good luck." I added before reaching up to kiss his unmasked cheek. I pulled away and ran back into the dancing crowd of stagehands, my arms raised above my head as I sang to a song I recognized.

I waited just long enough for Erik to leave, giving him some to change costumes, before running off to the main entrance hall to watch the scene I knew he was about to cause.

Sure enough, just as I found myself a spot to stand, all the lights blew out. Everyone turned to face the top of the right staircase, where a menacing man now stood. Erik looked so intimidating in his red suit and skull mask, but also devilishly handsome.

"_Why so silent, good Monsieurs_?" He joked as he descended the staircase, "_Did you think that I had left you for good_?" I had to hold onto the person next to me when I heard his voice.

Never before had I heard Erik sing, except for the brief moment when he had tried to strangle me. I knew his music so well that I thought I could pick it out anywhere, but it hadn't even occurred to me that he had never once sang.

"Are you alright, Mademoiselle?" I heard beside me. In my drunken stupor I had leaned against someone for support, not even realizing how strange a thing it was to do. Turning my head, I saw this person was a young man dressed in an expensive, smart suit.

"Quite." I said to the man before looking back to Erik, "He just sings so well."

"_Sings so well_?" The man questioned, maybe having mistaken my weak knees for fright "Mademoiselle, don't you know who that _is_?" I shushed the man to hear better.

"_Have you missed me, good Monsieurs_?" Erik continued, making me giggle, "_I have written you an opera. Here I bring the finished score: _Don Juan Triumphant!" And he slammed the portfolio down onto the staircase as if it meant nothing to him.

"He is so _dramatic_." I gushed stupidly. I felt the man stiffen beside me.

"Mademoiselle, you are ill." He said to me as Erik berated the cast and demanded this and that.

"Oh, I'm fine." I said dreamily as Erik poked the pudgy sultan that was Piangi with his sword.

"Can I at least get your name, if you won't let me help you?" The man asked me, apparently deciding to move the conversation along where he wanted it.

"No, I don't think so." I said, shaking my head and giggling at the frightened looks on Andre and Firmin's faces, "You wouldn't ever be able to use it. I'm not upstairs very often, you see." I blathered, making perfect sense only to myself, and possibly Erik if he were listening to my conversation and not staring at Christine Daae.

Staring at Christine Daae...

I felt my hands slide up to grip my own shoulder as I saw the look he was giving her. I felt my bottom lip tremble as I saw his ragged breaths. And I noticed a sensation of intense jealousy invade my chest as he came to stand in front of her. I even began to glare at the back of her pretty head as he ripped something from her neck and retreated up to the trap door on the landing. People gasped in shock as Erik disappeared in a cloud of red smoke, straight through the floor.

It wasn't as if I didn't _know_. Of course I _knew_. Erik had a million pictures and sketches of the girl, not to mention the manikin of Christine in a wedding dress. Erik was obsessed, and I had known that previous to tonight; I hadn't ever seen his reaction to her though. _That's_ what spurned these feelings of jealousy and _loathing_ even.

I was hugely upset and was thinking about running off to have a regretful evening with the boy beside me, who was still mumbling things into my deaf ears; however, I instantly sobered up as that idiot Raoul dove in after Erik, a sword holstered at his waist. My eyes grew wide at his misplaced bravery.

"Stupid boy!" I hissed as I pushed my way over to the concealed door Erik had told me to use to reenter the tunnels. I think he would have been proud to hear me sound so much like him if he weren't almost certainly silencing the idiot now. However, just as I laid my hand on the section of wall under the stairs that would push away, I felt another hand do the same. I looked up, startled, to stare into the face of Madame Giry. We didn't say a word, but immediately had an understanding: she would save Raoul, I would find Erik.

Pushing the wall away, she took the stairs down and to the left while I hiked up my skirts to proceed down and to the right, leaving the frantic sounds of Christine beating on the trap door far behind me.


	9. Silent Tears

Alright, here's chapter 9! It's a miracle I got this one out; it's soooo hot here, and I simply cannot concentrate.

**Anyway, just a quick reminder that this is the second to last chapter in this story; then I'll start writing the sequel. Any ideas for a title?**

**Also, many thanks to those of you who complimented my writing style and Charlotte's character design. I try to make it a point to only add scenes, not change them (the next chapter is altered a little, but nothing major). So that was a huge compliment to me.**

**Thanks to Captain Phantom Glass, namida no rekuiemo, SafteyPinStitches, and darklaughter for their lovely reviews! And keep them coming. Haha.**

**I apologize in advance for the fluffiness of this chapter.**

**Not much else to say, except that the next chapter might be a long time coming. Maybe even a week. It'll be HUGE, so don't fret.**

**Tell me what you think, and enjoy!**

I navigated the tunnels as fast as I could in my dress. I was hoping that Erik was already home by the time I got there; I didn't really know how to get anywhere very fast, and I wouldn't be stumbling around in the darkness to find him. Thankfully as I shot out of a concealed door into the main cavern, my eyes met with Erik's. He just stared at me, probably because I looked so harassed. I sighed deeply and brushed past him and didn't feel like talking. As I stepped behind the dressing screen to change out of my dress I heard Erik enter my room.

"I'm _changing_, Monsieur." I finally had to grumble when he made it apparent that he wasn't leaving.

"You're upset." Erik said matter-of-factly. Behind the safety of the screen I bit my lip and sighed again.

"What's it to you?" I said kind of harshly, feeling cornered.

"You're upset with me." He continued softly. I felt my heart melt a little, but tried to ignore it. I wiggled out of my dress.

"I'm not upset with you." I said quietly, giving in. I hung my dress over the top of the screen. Erik was silent, but I heard him approach, "_I'm indecent_." I had to remind him. However, he was only coming to get my dress to hang back up in my wardrobe.

"I'm glad you came back." Erik finally said as I buttoned up my nightgown. I was struck by the sound of something like tenderness in his voice.

"Why would I leave?" I asked.

"Because you had the chance." He replied simply, but that was stupid.

"We both know I'm here now because I want to be." I said dismissively. Erik startled me by coming behind the screen and pulling me to him.

"Is that true?" He asked quietly. I just gave him a shy smile.

"Of course. Would I say it if it weren't?" I replied. He didn't look convinced.

"People say things they don't mean." Erik said with some distaste.

"Well, not this person." I said. But he still looked like he was holding something back, "Something's still bothering you." I prompted him, taking advantage of the moment to lay my head on his chest. I was still feeling affectionate from my drinking at the Masquerade.

"I thought that boy was sure to change your mind." Erik admitted almost jealously. I just snorted and closed my eyes as he wrapped his arms around me.

"He didn't have a prayer. And I didn't give him the chance." I said sleepily.

"Why not?" I vaguely heard him ask me curiously.

"Not my type. Much too rich and handsome for his own good." I answered, chuckling through a yawn.

I felt my eyes close and also a strange feeling of weightlessness. It took my tired mind a moment to realize Erik was carrying me to my bed. As he set me down I felt him press a gentle kiss to my forehead. I was surprised, but remembered how I'd kissed _his _cheek not long ago. It was as if we had a new understanding of each other.

But I still couldn't forget how he felt for Christine. This wouldn't be an easy fight. But as I drifted off it occurred to me that love was the most important thing a girl could fight for.

**Later:**

I was in a room of mirrors. Everywhere I turned I could see myself. I looked pale. And frightened.

_My heartbeat filled my ears. Cold drops sweat slid slowly along my jawline. My mouth tasted like ashes._

_My knees were weak, so I grabbed a rope that had appeared next to me. As soon as I'd touched it the ground fell out from under me. I screamed and held on as tight as I could._

_I could smell something acidic. Looking down, I started into a vast pit of spitting fire and molten rock. The mirrors around me dropped into the pit as the floor crumbled away beneath them. Only now they didn't reflect my image. In one I could see an old woman, and elderly man in another; they looked like the grandparents I'd never met. I only knew them from pictures. Several mirrors fell away, but I didn't recognize any of the faces until I started into eyes not unlike mine._

_"Mother." I whispered as she slipped away. I knew what was coming next. I turned to the last mirror to see the wide-eyed image of my Father._

_"Poppa!" I called, reaching out._

_"Charlotte." He replied, pressing his hand against the surface of the mirror._

_"Poppa, reach for me!" I said, seeing the cracking floor quickly approaching him, "Come on Poppa, reach!" I cried more urgently, trying to swing to him. But it was too late. He was falling before I could even get close, "Poppa, no!"_

_I held onto the rope with both hands, my sobs echoing across the walls. But the rope wasn't a rope after all, it was an arm. I looked up into Erik's face as he looked down to me. But we weren't alone._

_Christine was dangling over the pit beside me, clutching to Erik's other hand. He couldn't hold both of us. I felt his grip on my hand slipping._

_"Erik please." I begged him; but he wasn't looking at me. Suddenly I was falling away, down into the fire._

I came out of my nightmare with a vicious jolt. I was wrapped tightly in my sheets and felt tears and sweat staining my face. Without any thoughts I tore out of my bed and ran to Erik's room. I lurked in his doorway, not sure what to say to wake him, or if I even should.

"Charlotte?" I heard in the darkness. My sobs must have been enough to wake him.

"I-I had a nightmare." I choked out, sounding like a child. Erik was silent. I was so intent on my sobbing that I didn't see him until he was right in front of me. I collapsed against his chest and cried harder. I felt him lift me and lay me down in his bed. When he got in I immediately folded my arms around his neck.

"I can't see." I said quietly when my sobs finally stopped. I usually slept with a candle in my room, since it got way too dark down here for me; but Erik kept his room pitch-black, "I'm scared."

"Don't be afraid." Erik said softly, wrapping his arms around me.

"Why shouldn't I be?" I sniffled, not convinced. I felt Erik hesitate.

"_Night time sharpens, heightens each sensation._" Erik sang gently in my ear. I closed my eyes.

"_Darkness stirs and wakes imagination_

_Silently the senses abandon their defenses_

_Slowly, gently night unfurls its splendor_

_Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender._"

I reached up to touch his face.

"_Turn your face away from the garish light of day_

_Turn your thoughts away from cold unfeeling light_

_And listen to the music of the night._"

I smiled dreamily as I felt sleep start to creep back into my mind.

"_Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams_

_Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before_

_Close your eyes, left you spirit start to soar._"

Erik paused as I sighed contently.

"_And you live as you've never lived before_

_Softly, deftly, music shall caress you_

_Hear it, feel it secretly possess you_

_Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind_

_In this darkness that you know you cannot fight_

_The darkness of the music of the night._"

I smiled again and let my hand fall to his chest when he brushed some hair behind my ear.

"_Let your mind start a journey to a strange new world_

_Leave all thoughts of the life you knew before_

_Let your soul take you where you long to be..._"

Erik hesitated again. I didn't know this song, but I could tell that it didn't end there. I didn't mind; I'm sure Erik had his reasons for not continuing.

"Thank you." I whispered, kissing his cheek again before falling into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.


	10. The Wasted Years

HERE IT IS! CHAPTER 10, THE LAST OF THIS STORY! (Cue the streamers and cheesy music). This is, in fact, only the second story I've EVER FINISHED. But, It's not really over of course. There's the sequel.

**PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE READ THIS PARTICULAR AUTHOR'S NOTE.**

**Some things to clear up ahead of time:**

**I think I have carpal tunnel after writing and typing this chapter. I could've made it into three. BE HAPPY.**

**I don't own any of the music in this chapter. Even the song I made up (I don't want to own it; it's terrible. I'm not really even kidding). Figured I'd say it before I get in trouble, since I borrowed a lot. **

**I skipped the Graveyard scene. I couldn't really think of a clever way to stick Charlotte in, with the way had her character develop, so I just skipped it. You'll see what I mean when you read the chapter.**

**As for the "song" I made up in **_**Don Juan**_**... If you can call it that. I wrote it like I write my poetry (bad), so it reads more like a poem than a song. Put it to whatever music or tune you want. I could play to "Happy Birthday" or "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" for all I know. Or maybe I hit it on the head and got it to sound like "Angel of Music" and "the Point of No Return". Not likely. Have fun with it.**

**Sorry if my creative license was overstepping it's boundaries in **_**Don Juan**_**. I just liked the symbolism of how I added Charlotte to the play. Anyway.**

**I hope you enjoy the subtle Raoul-is-an-idiot-with-swishy-hair humor. I tried not to be too harsh on the guy. Even though it's all his fault. Everything. Seriously, his fault.**

**ANYTHING IN ITALICS, besides single of a few words, IS SINGING.**

**What else what else... Oh yeah. I hope you enjoy the fluffiness at the end. It made me all emotional. Haha.**

**I would LOVE it if you reviewed this chapter. Anyone who does GETS A PREVIEW OF THE FIRST CHAPTER OF THE SEQUEL. Thanks to StrawberryStoleYourCookie, Isabeau Jones, namida no rekuiemo, mynameistolong, Captain Phantom Glass, darklaughter, SuchRidiculousThoughts, Iwandamonian, Pearlmaidenredskyla, and Divakitty for their lovely reviews! You guys are so awesome. And thanks to everyone who simply reads my story. You guys rock, too.**

**Btw, the sequel is going to be called **_**Pandora, No More**_**.**

**Without further ado: Tell me what you think, and enjoy!**

I woke up that morning very much alone. Stumbling in confusion from Erik's room into the main cavern, I noticed a plate of cheese and bread waiting for me on the table; but no Erik. Ignoring the food, I checked all the other rooms; he simply wasn't here. Settling myself into a chair at the table I sighed, but wasn't worried. Many times I would wake up to find him missing; he's return soon after, but usually never told me where he'd gone. So I was surprised to see a note with my name on the envelope beside another red paper rose on the table. I nibbled on a piece of bread as I turned the letter over in my hand. I'd never received a personal note before. Breaking the seal and slipping out the letter, I smiled at Erik's red lettering.

_Dearest Charlotte,_

_I am away to the graveyard on business and shall not return until perhaps mad-afternoon. I would have taken you with me, but I suspect what I must do will only upset you._

_Do not worry about delivering the note I told you about earlier. Madame Giry will bring it to the attention of the managers herself. You will not be meeting them or the cast until the performance, but I doubt this will deter your ability to prepare._

_On that note, I encourage you to practice your voice while I am gone, as the debut performance is not far off. Please do remember to mind your breathing, as I have taught you._

_OG_

Carrying the new rose delicately in the palm of my hand, I returned to my room to place it beside the other. Changing into a corseted dress, I was visibly disgruntled. Erik had brought down several dresses for me to practice singing in; he had advised me to become used to it, because my costume for _Don Juan Triumphant_ would be very restricting. I never gave him the satisfaction of seeing me wear them though.

Returning to the main cavern, I glanced at Erik's note once more. Thinking back on his lessons from before the Masquerade, I took a deep breath, one that filled my entire chest, and started my warp-up drills.

**Later:**

"_Little Sister, Dearest Sister_."I began singing off-stage. It was the night of _Don Juan Triumphant_, the Masquerade long in the past. It was the end of Act I, and it was my turn to take the stage. I was playing the role of Calista, the older sister of Aminta.

Christine was already on-stage, kneeling beside a rose bush. She was humming dreamily as she carefully placed the beautiful flowers in a wicker basket. However, as I entered the glen created on the Opera Populaire stage, she sprang up and out of her stupor.

"_Calista, my dearest sister_."Christine, Aminta, sang in her effortless soprano voice, not at all impeded by her corseted gypsy dress. I wore something similar, but my corset seemed to be either tied tighter or more ill fitting, because I was noticeably uncomfortable as I walked. However, the roses in my hair were not real; only Erik and I knew they were the paper ones he'd made for me.

"_Dearest little sister_

_Why do you hum so?_

_Away in your own world_

_Causing your very face to glow_." I mused, approaching Christine and holding her at arm's length. Aminta grinned and looked away, back to her dreamy self.

"_Sister, Dearest sister_

_I can hide nothing from you._

_My mind is far away_

_That much is true_." Aminta replied, her voice so dainty and womanly in comparison to mine. I tried to hold my smile in place.

"_Tell me, Young sister_

_Who weighs on your mind?_

_It must be a man!_

_With who's is your heart entwined_?" I sang, cocking an eyebrow at Christine mischievously, who blushed on cue.

"_Wise sister, Older sister_

_You know me so well._

_You are never wrong_

_A man indeed has me under a spell!_" Aminta confessed.

"_Then tell me his name_." I implored, laughing.

"_His name I know not_!" Aminta laughed also, clutching my hands and smiling. I took on a look of shock and doubt as was called for.

"_Oh sister, Dearest sister_

_How _romantic _it is,_

_To not know his name_

_And still remain his_!" Aminta tried to explain, shyly looking away. Every time I heard this line I thought of Erik. But I couldn't stop now to think; it was time for my one solo.

Calista turned from her little sister as if offended. After a moment of composing her features, Calista turned to face Aminta once more, taking up her hands in her own.

"_Dearest sister, Little sister..._" I began to sing as I led Aminta to center stage.

"_Dearest sister, Wise sister..._" Aminta echoed as Calista dropped her sister's hands and walked farther upstage. The music turned darker as I sent a long, sweeping gaze across the audience. I breathed deeply and thought of my lessons with Erik.

"_I was once in love_

_With a nameless man._

_Too late I learned_

_Of his deceitful plan_." I started in my low voice, closing my eyes to look mournful.

"_We met in the town_

_A scarf hiding his face._

_He charmed me with his words_

_And I with my grace._

_He spoke of passion and,_

_I was elated to hear,_

_He described his love._

_He sounded so sincere!_

_He invited me along_

_To his glorious dwelling._

_Oh the things we then spoke of..._

_Don't ask, I'm not telling_!" I paused again to hold my shoulders as the music swelled and fell once more. I continued lowly, shaking.

"_Hesitation passed with the wine_

_Before I knew it, we were in his room._

_I couldn't escape from_

_My virtue's tomb_." Calista theatrically fell to her knees as Aminta rushed over.

"_The worst is yet to come,_

_My dearest sister;_

_Abandoned I was_

_By this cruel mister._

_Gone he was_

_Without the slightest delay._

_Dissolving in the sun_

_Of next morning's day._

_And yet I still know not his name!_

_The mystery man of the deepest voice._

_But I love him still,_

_Of that I had no choice_." Calista picked up her sister's hands once more and looked into her eyes.

"_Dearest sister, Purest sister_

_Don't let this man beguile your heart._

_Walk away, while you still can_

_I beg you not to play your part_!" Calista pleaded with young Aminta, only for the latter to pull her hands away as if burned.

"_Dearest sister, _Wise _sister_

_Surely you know what you speak of_." Aminta rose to her full height and stared imperiously down on Calista.

"_However, I must disagree._

_You know not the man I love_!" She sang, color flushing her beautiful cheeks, before carrying her basket or roses away, off-stage.

The curtain sets on the scene of the glen, the rose bush the stand-alone piece, except for me, playing Calista, covering my face, and knowing exactly how my character feels.

Everyone prepared for Act II once Monsieur Reyer called the orchestra back from intermission. I distantly heard him tap his baton on the music stand, the main theme starting soon after. The various servants of Don Juan hurried on-stage; the curtain lifted, I closed my eyes on the vulgar scene and tried to replace Carlotta's voice with the sound of Erik's organ in my mind, a much more pleasant sound. I wondered where he was as Passarino and Don Juan revealed their plan for Aminta to the audience.

"_Passarino..._" I heard a soft voice, "_Go away, for the trap is set and waits for its prey_." I knew it was Erik before I even dared to open my eyes.

"Oh no." I whispered from my spot in the wings. Everyone knew something was wrong; dancers and stagehands filtered in behind me as Erik launched into "The Point of No Return". I felt the hairs on my arms tingle, but I wasn't sure if it was from fear or pleasure at the sound of his voice.

I came back into my right mind as Christine, Aminta, began her portion of the song. My blood boiled as they embraced on top of the bridge, but it was short-lived.

"_Say you'll share with me_

_One love, one lifetime._

_Lead me, save me_

_From my solitude_." Erik sang softly into Christine's ear. No longer was my blood on fire; now I felt a pressure in my chest so intense I thought it would kill me. Erik continued.

"_Say you want me with you_

_Here beside you._

_Anywhere you go_

_Let me go too_." He rose to a volume so loud and booming that I was sure the rafters shook. I felt my heart breaking as I anticipated his next words; I shut my eyes. I couldn't watch.

"_Christine,_

_That's all I ask of_-" The audience was screaming in horror, cutting Erik off. I felt gasps and cries rush past me from behind as the other cast members reacted. I dared to open my eyes.

I couldn't stop my hand from flying to my mouth, or the ear-piercing scream that flew from it. I was frightened by what I so suddenly saw; pure instinct told me to be afraid of Erik's disfigured face. It was everyone's first reaction. It was natural.

But all I felt was shame. Because, much the way the sudden reveal of Erik's face issued screams, my cry had drawn eyes. Including Erik's. I couldn't hide. He'd seen me.

With a pained glance around the stage, and the rushing policemen, Erik reacted. Pulling Christine to him while producing a hidden knife, Erik cut a rope and kicked a lever. They were gone, probably through a trap door.

"Stupid girl!" I yelled at myself, only to be pulled from my self-loathing to the crystal chandelier. It was falling, the chain tearing the plaster ceiling with it. It hit the stage before I could think to move, setting everything near it ablaze. I vaguely heard Carlotta sobbing in the distance, figuring some ill fate had come to Piangi. I was sympathetic, I really was, but my mind was also racing. How much time did Christine have? What was Erik going to do to her? Should I intervene? Did I _want_ to intervene?

Fire churned and crackled through the auditorium and along the stage; glass shattered and sliced through the air; ticket-holders from the audience and actors alike screamed as they fled the ruined Opera Populaire.

"Where did he take her?" A voice rushed past me as I leaned against a support beam, strangely thinking what my Poppa would say to do as I watched everything I'd known for the past two years go up in smoke.

_You will go down to the main floor, you will do you job, you will stay surrounded by the other stagehands; but you _will not _go looking for this murderer._

I hadn't listened to him then, and I couldn't start running now. I had to be my own person, and follow my own heart. I ran after the voice I knew belonged to Raoul de Changy.

I caught up to him and Madame Giry just as they left the main backstage area. I pushed past Meg Giry as she tried to hold back the mob of torch-bearing stagehands and actors.

"I can help." I croaked, using my voice for the first time since I'd sang on-stage. Raoul gave me a doubtful look, but Madame Giry held my gaze. After a moment she pursed her lips and led me along with a hand on my shoulder.

"Your hand at the level of your eyes." She warned Raoul and I one last time before leaving us on the stone staircase I'd come to know so well. I patted her hand as Raoul set off down the stairs; there weren't traps for a few more landings.

"I'll protect him." I tried to reassure her, well aware of how ludicrous it sounded.

"How can I trust you, Charlie Buquet?" She asked me, surprising me.

"Because _I_ trust Erik." I recovered quickly, and smiling slyly, surprising _her_. By the time I caught up to Raoul he had removed most his jackets, standing in just his shirt and trousers. Little did he know, being able to move easier wouldn't save you from Erik's Punjab lasso.

"Stop." I told him as we approached the halfway point. My mind was accessing the blueprints of my memory, mapping out the fastest way to the main cavern, where Erik and Christine were sure to be.

"You have to trust me." I said, glancing from Raoul to the landing a few steps below us.

"Why?" He asked, apparently just to waste precious time. If I explained myself, he was sure _not_ to trust me, so I just shoved him roughly onto the trapdoor. He cried out in surprise as he fell; I plunged into the water trap after him.

"The valve." I sputtered as water filled my nose. I took a huge breath, as if I were about to sing my solo, and motioned for Raoul to do the same. The valve was once again rusted shut, but between Raoul and I it succumbed to our will. Raoul clambered up through the exit first, and helped me. My dress was heavy with water, which I was severely unaccustomed to.

"This way. Keep up." I said I tried to wring out my skirts and navigate the darkened tunnels at the same time. This proved to be too much to handle though, and I felt my wet, bare feet slip. I twisted on my descent, trying to break my fall but only making it worse. I screamed as pain exploded in my left ankle.

"What happened? Are you hurt?" Raoul pestered me with questions about what hurt, and where, as I clutched my ankle. I could move it, so it wasn't broken, but even to turn it was unbearable.

"I'll be- no, you _have_ to go!" I cut across the annoying gentleman, "It's two rights, a left, and straight on from there. Don't get lost. No- no, I'll catch up. Oh my- Would you _go_?" I yelled. Raoul finally stopped blathering on and stood. I hoped he wouldn't get lost, but I had a nagging feeling he would.

I took a few moments to steady my breathing; I closed my eyes tight as I scraped against the wall the stand. I knew I could limp there, but also knew I had to lower my injured foot to do it. I cried out as the pain in my ankle intensified twice over, a cry that surely echoed all the way into the main cavern.

I didn't bite back my shouts and sobs as I made my way back to Erik's home. After all, I'd made a promise to myself to help him out of his solitude and loneliness, even if it killed me.

And I'll be damned if I keep my pain from that promise silent.

"_It's in your soul, that the true distortion lies_." I heard Christine sing in her sweet but cutting voice as I pushed aside the curtain hiding the concealed entrance the tunnels. It had taken quite a while, but I finally limped to them. She wasn't too far to my left as I stumbled in.

"Charlotte?" I heard Erik whisper before my ankle throbbed angrily. I yelped a little and bent over, having the feeling that I needed to touch my ankle but knowing I shouldn't.

"Are you hurt?" I heard above me. Christine was looking at me with her wide doe eyes.

"Yes, my ankle. Can you- thank you." I said as she came over to help support me. I looked over to Erik. He held my hard gaze with that look of tenderness he'd given me after I'd returned from the Masquerade. However, a splashing on the other side of the gate distracted him.

"_Wait._" Erik said, glancing back to us, "_I think, my dears, we have a guest_." Christine and I turned.

"Raoul!' Christine yelled, distraught.

"Oh good, he found his way." I sighed. Christine ran to the water's edge, leaving me to grab hold onto a mirror for support. Erik went off on an angry and sarcastic tirade as I gritted my teeth.

"_I love her. _Does that mean nothing? _I love her. _Show some compassion." Raoul implored I shook my head.

"The world showed no compassion to _him_." I whispered along with the seething Erik. I wasn't sure if he heard me, because my face was up close to the mirror I was desperately holding onto. My short breaths clouded the glass, which I was thankful for; I didn't want to see the mess I was sure I looked. The sound of the gate being opened drew my gaze back to the others. With that look on Erik's face, I was starting to rethink leading Raoul down here.

"_Monsieur I bid you welcome. Did you think that I would harm them_?" Erik said in a low, deathly growl. I hobbled over to Christine and held on as Erik waded into the lake, "_Why would I make them pay for the sins which are _yours?" The gate once again closed, Erik took the opportunity to lift a rope, hidden in the water, and shoot it around Raoul's neck. Christine whimpered next to me.

"_Erik_!" I let slip, aghast at his violence. He whipped his head around once Raoul was successfully rendered useless. He didn't say anything, but I saw the maddened look slip ever so slightly from his twisted face. He broke eye contact to glare once more at Raoul.

"Nothing can save you now." He said, accompanying the threat with an intimidating look, "Except perhaps _Christine_." Erik turned away from the other man, gaining volume and that crazed look again.

"_Start a new life with me; but his freedom with your love. Refuse me and send your lover to his death_." Erik spat, visibly shaking, "This _is the choice. _This _is the point of no return_." Raoul panted pathetically in the background as Christine stood perfectly still. She became icy to the touch as I sympathetically held her hand.

"_The tears I might have shed for your dark fate grow cold, and turn to tears of _hate." Christine shot right back.

"That wasn't a good think to say just now." I said to her, shaking my head. Raoul said something of little consequence to her from his place on the gate as I limped over to Erik.

"Erik please." I begged as he grabbed a ready-made Punjab lasso.

"Charlotte, go to your room." Erik said without looking at me. My ankle protested and I had to hold onto his shoulder to keep from falling. Our eyes locked.

"Please, Erik." I took the opportunity to whisper, "You _don't_ have to do this." I said through gritted teeth as tears streamed down my face. My ankle was really hurting me. Erik was silent, but helped me to stand straight; I just bored my eyes into his, trying to convey everything I felt without words.

"You don't need to see this." Erik finally said softly, but leaving me.

As he trudged back into the lake, his weapon of choice held in his firm grip, I covered my face with the hand not holding onto the chair. What could I do? I was just one girl. I couldn't stop _anything_ from happening. I was just some _stupid girl_. Everyone was trying to sing over the others now.

"_So do you end your days with me, or do you send him to his grave_?"

"_Why make her lie to you to save me_?"

"_Angel of Music..._"

_Stupid girl_, I heard in my head.

_"Don't throw your life away_-"

"-_the point of no return_-"

"_You must know_-"

_Stupid girl_, Erik said to me as he carried my unconscious body.

"_I've worked so hard to free you..._"

"_You've passed the point of no return..._"

"_Angel of Music..._"

_Stupid girl..._

"_You deceived me_."

"I'm not stupid." I whispered to myself, looking up. I could fix this. I could win.

I stood firmly on both feet, ignoring the pain. I took a few determined steps. I wanted to cry out and sit and be done with. But I couldn't. I had to fight.

I took a few more slow steps. I passed Christine. My hands clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palms. The pain in my hands distracted me from the pain in my ankle. I stood tall. I stopped in front of Erik. He was looking at me with that same look, that kind, endearing gaze. My lip trembled and I felt tears spill onto my cheeks. I fell against his chest.

"Erik." I sobbed so only he could hear, "Please. Let them go." I felt him raise his hands to my shaking shoulders. I didn't know what else to say. The pain in my ankle was immense. I didn't know how much longer I could hold on, but I was willing to expend every once of my energy for Erik. Then I sang two words, so softly, so gently, that I don't even know if he heard me:

"_Choose me_."

I was horrified with my inability to keep the words in; what had I just _done_? Erik was silent for several long moments until I felt his breath on my ear.

"Can you walk?" He asked me. I shook my head slowly against his chest as I continued to cry, my fists clasping his shirt. I felt him gingerly lift me off the ground and so much of my pain was relieved instantly. I squeezed my eyes shut and turned my face away from the world. I didn't want to be seen. I listened to Erik's sloshing steps through the lake, which suddenly stopped as he hit land.

"You- you may leave. Forget me. Swear to me never to tell what you know of me." I heard Erik say with difficulty. I peeked out slightly to see Christine nod a few times before she rushed away, a white flash in the dark cavern. I heard her plunge into the lake and over to Raoul.

I was set down on the edge of Erik's bed. He made a wonderful splint for me, which alleviated almost all the pressure on my ankle. I tapped the music box I enjoyed so much as he worked. I heard him humming sadly along, and my heart wondered if I'd done the right thing.

"Does it hurt anymore?" Erik asked me as he sat beside me. I was going to reply, but noticed Christine at the door. Erik saw her too and the look that crossed his face made fresh tears come to my eyes.

Without a word, Christine slipped a ring off her left index finger and crossed the room. She reached out for Erik's hand and set the ring on his palm, leaving quickly right after.

Being able to walk fairly well now, I stood. I figured he would need a private moment and intended to leave him to it. I laid a hand briefly on his shoulder before letting it fall and turning towards the door. Erik surprised me as he gently grabbed my falling hand; he pulled me back into his arms. I turned my face onto his shoulder as he held my waist and rested his cheek on the top of my head. I felt a few of his tears slide through my hair and along my jawline.

"I didn't think you would return." He said quietly above me. I turned my face to look at him. He pulled back slightly to meet my eyes.

"Don't I always come back?" I said, nuzzling into his neck. His grip around my waist tightened possessively.

I knew he couldn't possibly be over his unrequited love for Christine in an instant, but him letting her go was proof that he _could_ in time. And I was willing to help him, and to wait.

I reached up one tentative hand to touch the marred side of his face, and he didn't pull away.

The End

**(Remember to check back soon for **_**Pandora, No More**_**, the sequel!)**


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